The Rising Tide
by AbbyCadabra
Summary: He smells of sweat and Trojan blood and he’ll have to be leaving. The tide will be coming in soon." (Slash, AchillesHector)


Fandom: Troy/Iliad 

Title: _The Rising Tide_

Author: AbbyCadabra

Pairing: Achilles/Hector

Rating: PG

Content: Angst, slash

Warning: Character death

Disclaimer: Characters are, of course, not mine.

**

* * *

**

_I might be barely breathing,_

_But I'm not dead_

_'Cause tomorrow's another day_

_And I'm thirsty anyway_

_So bring on the rain_

-Jodee Messina, "Bring on the Rain"

**.**

Achilles is a stain upon the sand, black and deep.

His hands are humming with newly won conquest and his ears are ringing with silence, a deafening quiet, broken only by the crash of waves and the silky fast rush of the water. There is sand and salt water in his mouth, on his clothes, dried to his skin. He smells of sweat and Trojan blood and he'll have to be leaving. The tide will be coming in soon.

The sea is black, trimmed in crystalline moonlight, and Achilles can almost picture home. He can almost see the beaches and cliffs and wild flowers that surround his land, so familiar and sweet. He can almost smell the bread baking in the distance; can almost hear the summer breeze blowing through his window in the morning. He is almost there, almost home.

Almost.

There is a flicker of movement to his side, and Achilles doesn't have to look to know who it is.

_Your men are worried about you_, Hector says. He is still dressed in his Trojan armor, which doesn't smell like blood at all, but clean and metallic, and the moonlight glances off of the steel links and into Achilles' eyes. _They think your sadness has consumed you._

_And if it has?_

Achilles looks at Hector, but he continues watching the water. His eyes are bright with the breaking waves. Achilles thinks they would have been so good together, so untouchable.

_Then I would say that there are worse things to be consumed by_. Hector looks at him, briefly, then back to the sea.

Achilles snorts. _Like what?_

_Like greed, or pride._ He stops and shuts his eyes for the briefest of moments before going on, _Sadness comes from your heart. It is like fighting for love or honor. But greed and pride… those are diseases of the blood._

Achilles cannot think of a reply, but he doesn't think one is needed.

Thunder rumbles in the sky, gliding through the black moonlit clouds, over his spine, and Achilles can _feel_ Zeus' disapproval on his bones. It is heavy and dense, thickening his blood. It is coarse and cold, like the sand beneath his feet, wet with the approaching tide.

And Achilles would ask for forgiveness, except he knows there won't be any.

_I've missed you_, Achilles says suddenly.

Hector looks at him then, dark eyes resting on his. The corner of his mouth twitches and he turns, moving his hand to the back of Achilles' neck, and he is so warm, so warm. It is just for the briefest of moments, when all that exists is Hector—

Hector's skin on his, warm and hard and so familiar. Hector's eyes, dark like the sky, soft like the sand, like the bed of furs in Achilles' tent, like he never noticed before. Hector, with his gleaming Trojan armor and equally bright Trojan courage, so good and so noble and so beautiful it hurts.

—and then he is moving away and his smile is fading and Achilles wonders if it is sadness and not honor that Hector fights for too.

_The sun will be up soon_, Hector says, _and I'll—_

_Have to be leaving,_ Achilles finishes.

Hector's mouth opens as if to say something, but then he shakes his head and smiles, and Achilles thinks it is the saddest smile he has ever seen. He begins to walk away, but then he stops. He turns and looks at Achilles and says, softly, _I forgive you, brother._

'What for?' Achilles wants to say, 'What for?'

But Hector is already gone, blended with the night, and Achilles can think of ten thousand other things he wants to say.

Achilles watches the sea for a moment, the brightening horizon, and the rising tide brushes his feet, and only then does he realize—

There is only one set of footprints in the sand.

And he has won the war.

_Finis_


End file.
